


A Second Chance

by Dancingdog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19, Angst, Canon Compliant, Coda, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingdog/pseuds/Dancingdog
Summary: Post 15x19The confession had been totally unexpected and Dean hadn't known what to say.He won't make that mistake a second time.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 222





	1. Castiel

The Empty was soundless in an indescribable way; it wasn’t just _silent_ … no. Silence was just an absence of noise. The Empty removed the very concept of sound from all of its inhabitants’ minds until they could no longer remember what _sound_ was. The idea of sound in The Empty was akin to a human on Earth trying to picture a colour outside of the spectrum – sound wasn’t just absent; _it didn’t exist._

The Empty was dark in the same way that it was silent. Light and dark were concepts that had once again been wiped from the minds of the inhabitants of The Empty, until they were no longer able to comprehend such an _absurdity_ as vision. 

Or touch. 

Or taste. 

Or smells.

Nothing existed in The Empty except for the hollowed-out shells of its inhabitants. They couldn’t _perceive_ things in the way they once had, or at all, actually. They couldn’t move or speak, for the very idea was impossible. They couldn’t even _think_ because to think about something, that something would have to _exist_ for them to think about. 

And so, the inhabitants of The Empty slept. 

And slept. 

And slept.

An eternal sleep in a place that barely existed itself. It would have been peaceful, had the concept of _peace_ existed. 

So, when Castiel was suddenly launched out of The Empty and into the bunker by an unknown but powerful force, his senses weren’t so much assaulted as every atom of his being was ripped out, placed in a cosmic blender, and the resulting mess tossed into an industrial oven with the heat turned up to seventy-thousand degrees. 

Needless to say that it wasn’t a particularly pleasurable experience and for a brief moment, he wished The Empty would absorb him once more. 

But the agony lasted thirty seconds at most and, whilst a little off-kilter, Castiel could suddenly remember that he had once existed. 

He blinked down at himself in wonder; at his hands and his feet and his coat.

He had legs. 

He had forgotten what legs were.

He was _alive_. He had forgotten that things could live and die. 

No. _Forgotten_ was the wrong word. He hadn’t _forgotten_ anything. He hadn’t been conscious in The Empty; had barely existed at all, really. 

However, now he did exist, and he looked around himself slowly so as not to rip his own atoms apart again.

The bunker was silent in a way that was deafening after the lack of sound in The Empty, and Castiel flinched a little because he wasn’t accustomed to having ears. 

He smoothed his tie down to distract himself, then startled at the feel of soft fabric against fingertips that hadn’t existed two minutes ago. He swallowed nervously and grimaced because his throat was dry and every movement was somewhere between inconceivably _wrong_ and absolutely normal. 

He closed his eyes for a moment and let himself breathe despite the lack of necessity for an angel to do so; he wasn’t quite ready to comprehend the fact that he was an angel – a fully-powered one at that – and so he closed his eyes and breathed because it was a little like sleeping if he didn’t think too hard about it. 

When he next opened his eyes, the world was a fraction more in-focus and he could just about recall what had happened to lead him to this very moment. 

He had died. Again.

He had saved Dean by doing so and for a brief moment, he had experienced true happiness. He had confessed his feelings to Dean and sacrificed himself for the man he… 

Castiel frowned again. Feelings were too complex for him to recall just yet. He hadn’t felt anything in The Empty.

 _The man he…_

He shook his head. The word didn’t seem to exist just yet. Perhaps it would come to him later, or maybe he would be able to recall the feelings he had felt when he had sacrificed himself. He knew that they had to be important. 

He looked around again and pulled a face, then grew shocked at how agile his face was. Had it always been able to move like that? He placed his palms against his cheeks and palpated the muscles and bone structure of his face. Faces were very strange, he decided. 

Should he be doing something? Did he have somewhere to be? He tried to recall what he had been doing before he died. 

Fighting. Fighting for someone. Fighting against someone.

The name ‘Death’ rattled around his mind like a broken toy. There were other names too… Jack, Sam… Chuck. 

Chuck’s name made him scrunch his nose in distaste and he couldn’t remember why.

Oh, wait. 

Chuck was his father. Chuck wanted to kill him and his family. He had created entire universes and now he was hopping between each one, destroying them and other versions of Castiel and his family. He had absorbed his sister and then he had started wiping people from existence and Jack had basically become a black hole in his effort to kill Chuck and- 

_Ow. Too much._

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and stopped thinking. His head hurt and it felt as though the blender was starting up again. 

He opened his eyes slowly and sighed, then jerked at the sound of his own voice.

He should be finding Dean, he decided. He was pretty certain that he had hurled Dean into a wall right before he had died. He should probably apologise for that. 

He took a step forward and promptly crumpled to the floor. He had forgotten how legs worked, it seemed, or maybe his legs had forgotten that they existed. 

He attempted to push himself upright and found that his arms couldn’t remember that they existed either.

Well. This was inconvenient. 

He stared at the grime on the floor and wondered if he should stay where he was a little longer. Walking seemed a bit impractical at the moment. 

He closed his eyes once more and slept.

* * *

He startled out of his dreams and listened to the footsteps down the hall. They were _loud_ and he groaned softly as his head ached. 

Then he remembered that he was an angel and he could take away his own pain if he so desired, so he did.

He sat upright and smiled as his arms woke up. Carefully, with the precision of a master mathematician, he planted his feet on the floor and drew himself upwards. He took one step and then another and his smile widened when his legs held strong. 

Everything felt somehow clearer now that he had slept and he remembered that he needed to apologise to Dean. He headed towards the door and eyed the large blood sigil adorning its top half. He remembered drawing that symbol to protect Dean. 

He checked his hand instinctively, because he had cut his own palm with a blade in order to create the sigil. Unsurprisingly, there was no trace of a scar. He idly wondered what had dragged him out of The Empty. 

He pushed through the door and stumbled a little when he forgot how heavy everything in the bunker was. Immediately righting himself, he slowly made his way down the hallway and headed towards the source of the footsteps that were being unnecessarily loud. 

He arrived in a room he vaguely recalled spending a lot of time in. There was a large table with a map encased within its glass top and another table littered with books and lamps and beer bottles. At this smaller table perched Sam Winchester, immersed in his phone and a relieved smile painting his face. 

Castiel watched him text for a few moments before stepping into the room fully.

“Hello, Sam,” he said hoarsely, throat sore and scratchy. He grimaced as his voice dropped even lower than its usual octave. 

The phone clattered to the floor as Sam whirled on the spot, eyes wide.

“Cas?” he breathed before a dimpled smile stretched over his face. “Cas!” 

Castiel forced himself not to wince at the shout, but he did skitter backwards a little when Sam practically ran over to him and drew him into a tight hug. 

Castiel’s eyes bulged at the assault on his senses. He wasn’t quite ready for sight, sound, touch, and smell all in one sitting. The blender powered up and his atoms jiggled in apprehension. 

“You’re okay!” Sam exclaimed excitedly as he drew back and slapped Castiel’s back. Castiel lurched forwards and nearly collided with the floor again, but managed to rescue himself at the last moment. 

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly, because it was too much effort to say anything else.

Thankfully, Sam seemed to recognise that he was a little off-kilter and he backed up with a worried gaze. “You… _are_ okay, right?” 

“I was dead,” Castiel said slowly, thoughtfully, because that was a good question. “And now I’m not.”

Sam’s gaze softened in understanding and Castiel was thankful that the younger Winchester was both smart and empathetic. 

“I’ll get you some tea,” Sam offered. “Sit down, Cas. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Castiel did as he was told and eyed his own name carved into the table. He smiled at the memory. Dean had been beside him that evening, both of them slightly drunk and laughing over something inane at a time when there hadn’t been all that much to laugh about. Dean had insisted that he was part of the family and as such, it was required that he carve his name beside his and Sam's. 

It brought forth warm feelings in his chest. He tilted his head and wondered what those feelings were called. Feelings were still hard and they were just out of reach, as though he was looking at them through a haze of fog in his mind’s eye. 

“Dean is gonna be so happy,” Sam said suddenly as a cup of tea was placed in front of him. “He says he’s happy now, but, man, when he sees you…” Sam trailed off and looked up to the balcony that led to the bunker’s front door. His brows pinched downwards worriedly. 

Castiel sipped at his tea and the flood of heat down his throat was a welcome relief. He glanced down at Sam’s phone and scooped it from the floor. It was open on a text message from Eileen. 

Castiel held it out to Sam wordlessly.

Sam glanced towards him and startled before taking the phone off him sheepishly. “I just wanted to check that she… you know. After Billie… and then Jack…” Sam cleared his throat and shoved the phone into his pocket. 

Castiel smiled at him patiently and continued to sip his tea. Hopefully, Sam would catch on…

“Oh!” Sam said, straightening in realisation. “You… you weren’t…” He shook his head, a wince gracing his expression. “Billie’s dead… I think,” he said, as though the thought had never occurred to him that she _might_ still be alive. “And Chuck… Chuck is alive but human now. We um… we left him in the woods. Jack sucked all the power out of him.” Sam grinned. “We won, Cas. We’re free.” 

Castiel could feel a migraine coming on and he whisked it away with his grace. “And… all the people who disappeared?” 

“They’re back,” Sam beamed. “All of them. Jack brought them all back. He’s… uh… I guess he’s the new… Chuck?”

Castiel choked on his tea then rubbed at his temple. The migraine was persistent, even against angelic healing powers. 

“That’s… interesting,” he said as he subtly glanced around the bunker. If Jack was all-powerful now, did that mean he hadn’t returned home with the Winchesters? 

Sam’s expression fell slightly and Castiel learned the answer. He stared at his tea and didn’t think too hard about the gaping hole in his heart. 

“He’s around,” Sam said quietly. “At least, he says he is. He says he doesn’t want to be… ‘hands-on’.”

Castiel scowled. Chuck hadn’t been ‘hands-on’ in the beginning and Heaven had fallen apart with the lack of direction. Would Jack fall victim to the same mistakes? 

How was Jack even that powerful? Hadn’t he been powered down last time he had seen the boy? Perhaps he shouldn’t ask, if his growing headache was anything to judge by. 

“Where _is_ Dean?” he asked instead, since that seemed like a rather pertinent question.

Once again, Sam glanced up to the balcony and his brow creased. “He’s… he’s coming. He’s just unloading the car.” 

Was he unloading an elephant?

Castiel smiled tightly and gazed into the murky depths of his tea. He was beginning to remember his monologue from when he had sacrificed himself and he wondered about Dean’s muted reaction to all that had been said. Something was still missing though and Castiel couldn’t quite grasp it. 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked quietly.

“Incomplete,” Castiel admitted. “There are parts of me that are… missing. Memories, emotions, limb function. It’s like I’m… moving underwater after waking from a deep sleep. I can’t quite… reach everything I need and thinking about it all _hurts._ ” 

Sam’s eyes widened with alarm. “What do we do? Is there something we can get you? Maybe we could-”

“It is returning,” Castiel interrupted before Sam could cause the migraine to favour a concussion. “It’s just… slow. I’ve come from a place where nothing existed into a world where everything is too bright, too loud, too… _much_. It’s overwhelming and my grace requires an adjustment period.” 

Sam seemed to calm a little. His fingers twitched towards his pocket almost subconsciously and Castiel was grateful for the opportunity. 

“You shouldn’t leave Eileen hanging. She’ll grow worried.”

Sam blinked and slipped a hand into his pocket before smiling appreciatively. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I will be. I just need time.” Castiel offered Sam a small smile and Sam nodded before sliding out of the room.

The silence was blissful and Castiel swirled the remains of his tea around its cup mindlessly, watching the liquid lap the sides with an almost inaudible _slosh_. 

He closed his eyes for a moment. He felt so _tired_. Heavy. Every action sapped his strength. All of this thinking and speaking was incredibly difficult. 

“…Cas?”

He cracked an eye open at the small voice, before jolting to attention at the sight of Dean staring at him from the other end of the room, weapons arsenal dumped beside him in a way that suggested he might have dropped it out of shock. Castiel frowned at himself and wondered if he had dozed off again. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered a second time, his voice cracking around the word.

“Dean,” Castiel greeted softly as he rose from his chair and subtly held onto the table edge to stop himself from tipping over. “Sam informed me of Chuck’s fate. Congratulations.” 

Dean continued to stare at him, eyes wide and disbelieving and Castiel shifted uncomfortably as the memories of his monologue trickled in clearer than they had earlier. He had been emotional and under the impression that he was about to die, and he may have been a little overly dramatic for Dean’s tastes. 

Something else niggled at the back of his mind. He had said something else to Dean; something he would probably regret if he could actually remember it. 

“My apologies for throwing you into a wall,” Castiel said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to move you with such force.”

Dean was moving; striding across the floor with a determined expression and a look in his eyes that Castiel couldn’t quite decipher. It was the type of look that could either mean he was about to be drawn into a bone-crushing hug, or subjected to a fist to the mouth. 

Castiel stiffened when Dean pulled him tight to his chest and held on as though his life depended on it. The headache was returning. 

The hug was nice though. Warm. Blessedly silent. He felt a little sleepy truthfully and if he wasn’t careful, he would doze off on Dean’s shoulder. Perhaps what he couldn’t remember wasn’t that important after all. Dean didn’t seem angry anyway and although he wasn’t speaking, he seemed happy enough that Castiel had returned from the dead. 

The hug was lasting longer than the usual _‘Glad you’re back’_ hug. Castiel didn’t particularly mind and he closed his eyes and wondered how easy it would be to fall asleep standing up. He was pretty certain that angels weren’t meant to sleep, but perhaps the rules changed when you had been forcefully resurrected by a nephilim. He was surprised that Dean wasn’t berating him for sacrificing himself, but there hadn’t been any other way out of the situation with Billie and maybe Dean understood that and was just grateful that Jack had- 

He’d told Dean that he loved him.

Castiel’s eyes blew comically wide as the fog in his mind suddenly lifted. 

_Crap_.

Dean had looked so _blank_. There had been no emotion during any of his spiel except for confusion. He had made a fool of himself out of desperation and now he would have to face the consequences.

His headache blossomed.

This was going to be undeniably awkward.

Perhaps he could pretend that he couldn’t remember? Maybe they could just move on past it like they did everything else? Nothing had to change! If he didn’t mention it, it didn’t happen according to Winchester logic, so he would just pretend that he had no memory of his hasty goodbye, or maybe he could play it off as emotional stress leading to him blurting a regrettable comment that held no truth. A half-lie was preferrable to having Dean uncomfortable around him for the rest of their hard-earned lives.

Dean still hadn’t released him.

Castiel swallowed and put his plan into action. “This is… usually the part where you let go.” 

Dean startled and shuffled backwards, his gaze low. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured. “I wasn’t sure if…” He shook his head. “How are you, man?” 

Castiel managed a half-hearted smile as Dean met his gaze. “Like I’ve gone a few rounds with Death herself.”

Dean’s eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before he huffed a laugh. “Can’t think why.” 

Castiel dared to relax as Dean’s gaze softened.

“Is there anything I can do?” Dean asked quietly. 

Castiel shook his head before easing into the chair. “I just need time to readjust. Everything is slightly off; memories, co-ordination… The Empty removes your sense of _being_. Sleep will help, I’m sure.” 

Dean appeared concerned by this. “Thought angels didn’t need sleep?”

“Apparently resurrected angels do,” Castiel sighed before rubbing at his temple. Blasted migraine. 

Dean watched the gesture worriedly and Castiel began to weigh up the pros and cons of disappearing into his room and falling unconscious, both to soothe the migraine and get as far away from Dean as possible. The pure mortification wasn’t helping him. 

“Well, maybe you should get some rest then,” Dean said almost reluctantly, “and then we can talk when you wake up?” He looked nervous, thought Castiel gloomily. 

“Good idea,” Castiel said as he stood far too quickly and flinched at the resulting pain in his skull. “See you later, Dean.” 

He turned and paced towards the door.

“Cas,” Dean called softly. 

He halted and glanced over his shoulder.

Dean looked conflicted and for a moment, Castiel was certain that he was about to follow him. The thought had his muscles tensing to sprint. 

“I…” Dean began before his eyes flicked to the floor and he shook his head ruefully. “Never mind. Sleep well, Cas.”

Castiel quickly slipped out of the room.


	2. Dean

They were free. 

Free of Chuck’s torture, free of having their lives be part of some… divine plan. Free of Chuck.

Jack had restored all the people, all the animals, all the other-world refugees and every friend the Winchesters had lost to Chuck’s little vanishing trick. Everyone was free to write their own stories. 

So, why wasn’t he happy?

He had made out that he was thrilled with the outcome in front of Sam, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and he was pretty sure that his little brother had noticed and was just polite enough to not mention it. 

Dean stared at the wheel.

It was dark outside and the car was empty save for him and the arsenal in the back. Sam had made his way inside twenty minutes ago and Dean had promised to follow him after he unloaded. 

For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to enter the bunker.

Cas was gone. 

Jack might have been all-powerful, but The Empty was an entirely separate matter. Not even Jack could reach there, right? Chuck hadn’t been able to. 

Cas was _dead_. Because of him. No. To _save_ him.

Cas had saved him yet again from the clutches of death and Dean hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t done _anything_. Cas poured his heart out to him and he just… stood there, emotionlessly. What must Cas have thought? 

He had lost Cas before and each time was a stab to the chest, but this time… this time was different, because there was no coming back from this. 

That wasn’t entirely true either – he had lost Cas before and every time, he had thought it was the last time. No, this time was different because Cas had _made_ it different. Cas had… 

Dean realised that he was crying and he wiped his eyes hurriedly on his sleeve.

He hadn’t expected it. He was pretty sure that Cas hadn’t expected it either – the words had poured out as though a dam had broken in his mind and Dean had watched desperation and despair and acceptance swirl behind his eyes like a thunderstorm as his words painted pictures of Dean that he in no way deserved. 

Cas had always been willing to give everything up for him and Sam, but Dean had never thought that the angel…

He huffed a broken sob and scowled at himself angrily. 

_He hadn’t done anything_.

Cas loved him and Dean hadn’t even responded, because he was too shocked and confused to say anything other than ‘don’t do this’. He hadn’t even tried to resist as Cas pushed him out of the way. Hadn’t shouted for Cas to stop. 

He had merely watched as his best friend _died_ in front of him.

Dean scrubbed more tears away before slamming his hands on the wheel and grating his teeth together. 

How long had Cas felt like that? How hadn’t he noticed?

 _Why had he said nothing?_

A sob was ripped from Dean’s lungs and he gripped the wheel tight and slammed his foot down on the pedals. The engine wasn’t running but the impact of the hard metal against his foot felt good; solid in a way that Cas wasn’t anymore. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered into the darkness as his anger suddenly melted away, leaving nothing but grief.

He had always loved being around Cas, but he loved being around Sam and so he had chalked it up to a brotherly kind of love. He had never been interested in guys before so it seemed laughable for him to think of Cas as anything but platonically. 

But hearing Cas’ thoughts about him… hearing those three simple words fall from his lips in a devastated rush…

Dean’s head fell against the wheel as he tried to forget the way Cas had smiled before The Empty took him. He had never seen Cas smile like that before – as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders; as though merely confessing those three words to Dean had brought him a sense of peace that he had never quite been able to achieve. 

_You’ve changed me, Dean._

Another sob was torn from Dean’s throat. It wasn’t only Cas who had changed. They had known each other for so many years now, had been together through all the highs and every damn low… it was ridiculous to think that Cas hadn’t changed him. 

He had never considered before that Cas might love him. He had certainly never considered the possibility of him holding non-platonic feelings for… 

He drove a hand through his hair as his breaths shook. Wasted opportunities. Missed connections. Ignorance.

How many times had he yelled at Cas? How many times had he dismissed him? Hurt him? Tossed him aside like a broken toy? 

To think he had done that when all this time, Cas was hiding his feelings; burying them so deep that he seemed surprised when they finally sprung into the open. 

Couldn’t he have picked a better time? Couldn’t he have said something sooner? Why had he waited for so long?

Dean’s grip on the wheel loosened. How could he blame Cas? After everything the angel had done for him, after everything he had said… how could he possibly blame Cas for blurting those three simple words? 

Dean closed his eyes. He wished he’d known sooner. Maybe they could have had something. Maybe Dean could have dropped the macho act for a moment and ignored all the labels he seemed so intent on holding onto. Maybe he and Cas could have been _something_.

Cas had been crying. He had said those words because it was the end and he had nothing to lose. He’d needed Dean to know before he died. He’d wanted to save the man he loved one last time.

_I love you._

Dean cried silently into his arms. “Please,” he begged softly as he let the tears fall. He didn’t know who he was talking to or what he was asking, but he begged anyway. 

This heartache… Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this. The _agony_. He was being split in two and there was no way to fix it. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout. He wanted to sob until there weren’t any tears left. 

He wanted to see Cas one last time.

He clutched at his chest. The pain was intense. Had it felt like this all those other times when he had lost Cas? Had he ever been tortured like this before? 

He couldn’t even look at the handprint on his jacket. It hurt far too much.

“Come back,” he whispered into the silence. 

Eventually, the tears dried and he was left feeling numb and cold. He shivered a little against the cool air and watched condensation creep up the windshield. It was time to go inside. 

His body was heavy and sluggish as he crawled out of the car. He nearly forgot the weapons arsenal but doubled back at the last moment to grab it. 

He slid into the warmth of the bunker and descended the stairs only to pause halfway when he noticed a ghost slumped at the table. 

His heart leapt into his mouth and he was halfway across the hall before he even realised that his feet were moving.

“…Cas?” he asked quietly, as though speaking any louder would make the spirit vanish. 

Castiel stirred and cracked an eye open and upon noticing his presence, jerked awake.

“Cas,” Dean said again, disbelieving, not noticing that he had dropped the weapons bag somewhere along the way. 

“Dean,” Cas greeted with a tiny, familiar smile as he stood and leaned casually against the table as though he hadn’t died the last time that they had seen one another. “Sam informed me of Chuck’s fate. Congratulations.” 

Dean balked because… _what?_ How was this happening? How was Cas standing right there, walking and talking as though nothing had happened? How was he _alive?!_

Castiel seemed uncomfortable at his staring. “My apologies for throwing you into a wall,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to move you with such force.” 

Dean began moving before Cas had even finished his sentence. There was only one thing on his mind and that was the fact that Cas was _alive_. 

He threw his arms around the angel and ignored the way he tensed when yanked into the hug. Dean needed to feel that Cas was here; that he was solid and warm and _safe_. He held on and felt Cas begin to relax and he hugged the angel even tighter because Cas was _there._ He was _right there_. 

Cas shifted after a few moments and when Dean didn’t let go, he said, “This is… usually the part where you let go.”

Dean didn’t want to let go. Dean wanted to keep holding on, but he didn’t want Cas to get uncomfortable and he shuffled away reluctantly, gaze low.

What was he supposed to say to Cas now? How did he even begin to approach what had happened, what had been said? He was way out of his depth.

“It’s good to see you,” he finally murmured. “I wasn’t sure if…” He shook his head. No, don’t think about that; he couldn’t go through that pain again. “How are you, man?”

“Like I’ve gone a few rounds with Death herself.”

Dean’s eyes widened at the joke and he let out a startled laugh. Trust Cas to come up with a response like that. “Can’t think why.” 

He paused and observed Cas properly. The angel looked _exhausted_. He also looked… nervous, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure why. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked worriedly.

Castiel shook his head before sitting back down. “I just need time to readjust. Everything is slightly off; memories, co-ordination… The Empty removes your sense of _being_. Sleep will help, I’m sure.”

Dean’s brows pinched together. Cas’ memories were off? Did that mean that he couldn’t remember…? Dean swallowed and banished the thought. Whether Cas remembered his confession or not, the feelings were still there. The most pressing matter was the idea that Cas needed to _sleep._ “Thought angels didn’t need sleep?”

“Apparently resurrected angels do,” Castiel sighed before rubbing at his temple. He looked… pained. Dean hated it.

“Well, maybe you should get some rest then,” Dean said despite that being the last thing that he wanted at the moment when there was a rather large elephant in the room, “and then we can talk when you wake up?” He wondered if he perhaps sounded a little too hopeful. 

“Good idea,” Castiel said as he stood far too quickly for Dean’s liking and then suddenly flinched. “See you later, Dean.” 

He made his way towards the door and Dean was suddenly overcome by panic. _Missed opportunity_ his mind screamed.

“Cas,” he said quickly.

Castiel halted and glanced over his shoulder. 

“I…” Dean began before his eyes flicked to the floor and he chickened out. Cas needed rest before they had this sort of conversation and he needed to think exactly what he wanted to say. “Never mind. Sleep well, Cas.” 

Castiel slid out of the room without a backwards glance and Dean felt himself deflate.

Was it possible that Castiel didn’t actually mean the things that he had said? Had he merely said them in the spur of the moment, like a sort of stress response? Did he not really love-? 

Dean shook his head with a scowl and mentally berated himself. Idiot. This is why it had taken so long for Cas to actually say the words to him – because Dean Winchester was fantastic at stomping his feelings down and second-guessing everyone else. 

Cas had _died_ for him. Cas had stuck by him all these years despite all the arguments and pain. He had defied _Heaven_ for him. He had killed for him. Cas had lost _everything_ for him. 

There was no doubt that Cas loved him and looking back at everything now, Dean wondered why he hadn’t realised it sooner. 

He would let Cas sleep and recover, and then he would tell the angel _exactly_ how he felt.

* * *

Dean couldn’t believe it. 

Cas was _avoiding_ him!

Three days since their reunion and Cas had done everything in his power to keep from being alone in a room with Dean. When he wasn’t locked in his room _pretending_ to sleep, he made sure to be in the same room that Sam was occupying. If Dean did manage to catch him by himself, the angel _flew out of the room_. 

Dean had just about had enough. His nerves were frayed as it was; he was having nightmares about Cas’ death and Chuck somehow regaining all of his powers, and he was still coming to terms with the fact that he might not be purely interested in women, or at least women-shaped beings. And now Cas was avoiding him! 

What did that even mean? Did Cas regret saying what he had or was he just afraid of Dean’s reaction?

Dean snorted and shook his head. He knew it was the latter. He knew how hot-headed he could be and he’d taken his frustrations out on Cas more than once. Cas probably thought he was going to get scolded for the confession. 

The problem would have been easy to rectify had Cas been willing to stay in a room with him for more than six seconds. 

Fine. Two could play dirty.

Dean waited for Cas to head back to his room for the evening. It was a little past one in the morning and Sam was still up reading. Not wanting to be left alone with Dean, Cas had stated his plans to retire. 

“I think I’ll hit the hay too,” Dean said casually as he stood. He watched concealed panic flit behind Castiel’s eyes.

Sam didn’t notice. 

“Night, guys.”

“Night, Sammy,” Dean grinned, far too sweetly before making a beeline towards where Cas was carefully edging out of the room. 

He allowed Castiel to practically stride down the corridor and when he was sure that Sam was out of eavesdropping range, he _sprinted_ after the angel and slipped into his room before Castiel could slam the door on him. 

“Dean, please,” Castiel protested, expression clearly affronted as Dean locked the door behind him.

“You gave me no choice, buddy,” Dean grinned as he planted himself in front of the handle. His smile fell at Castiel’s nervous expression. “Cas, relax. You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.” 

“I have an idea,” Cas sighed as he perched on the edge of his bed. “And look… Dean you don’t have to say anything. I understand. I was hoping we could… go back to the way things were.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked softly as he eased away from the door and slowly made his way to the bed. “Yeah, I was kinda hoping for the same thing.” He perched beside the angel and carefully placed a hand over Castiel’s. “Well… almost the same.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened as he glanced down at Dean’s hand and back up to his face. Dean offered him a lop-sided smile. 

Cas couldn’t seem to find any words so Dean cleared his throat and stared at the wall. “I was shocked,” Dean admitted quietly. “I handled it terribly. I’ve had a long time to think since then and I…” He glanced at the angel, gaze pained. “I thought you were dead, man. I thought I’d lost my chance. I thought I’d lost _you_. And I never wanna go through that again.” He squeezed Cas’ hand gently and shook his head ruefully. “You only told me because you thought you were gonna die. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made you feel that way and Cas,” he forced himself to look at the angel. “I’m sorry.” 

Castiel swallowed, eyes wider than they had been when Dean had introduced him to all those prostitutes. He looked ready to let the bed absorb him. 

“Say something,” Dean mumbled nervously.

“…Something.” 

Dean blinked, then laughed as apprehension bubbled in his gut. This wasn’t going as planned. All those carefully devised words had suddenly melted away and he was fumbling his way through what was supposed to be his own confession.

Castiel dropped his gaze to their linked hands as though he wasn’t quite sure who they belonged to.

“This… isn’t what I was expecting,” he admitted and Dean grimaced because _of course_ it wasn’t. Dean hadn’t exactly made himself particularly approachable or open to these sorts of discussions. Cas had probably been expecting him to barge in here and tell him to shove his feelings. Heck, he was probably afraid that Dean would throw him out – he had already done it once before, after all. 

“It is… a pleasant surprise though,” Castiel murmured as he rotated his hand and slotted his fingers with Dean’s until they were palm to palm. 

Dean stared at their hands before glancing at Castiel’s face and the small, excited smile residing there.

He found a smile of his own forming. 

“You’re… certain?” Castiel asked slowly. “I realise that my timing was… suboptimal.”

Dean bit back a laugh but it danced behind his eyes anyway. “Yeah. A bit.” He held Cas’ hand tighter. “I’m sure.” 

Cas looked surprised and then he smiled wide and beautiful and Dean couldn’t help but grin back.

He stood before he did something as ridiculous as kiss the angel. “I’ll uh… I’ll leave you to sleep,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “It’s getting late and we uh… we can talk more in the morning, yeah?” 

He headed towards the door before he could change his mind, but as he reached for the handle, Cas uttered one tiny word that shattered any doubts that he may have had about the angel not wanting him; a question that he couldn’t possibly refuse. 

“Stay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's up to you what happens next ;)


End file.
